


A Night At Madame Angel's

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Kink Meme, M/M, Masks, Oral Sex, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kinkmeme prompt of Aramis/Porthos leading to OT3 - where Madame Angel's is "a secret Parisian sex club, where the members all wear Venetian style masks and it caters for pretty much anything between consenting adults."</p><p>"I leave it to you, anon, what Aramis and Porthos choose to do there. Perhaps they just like an audience. Or, as they have to keep their relationship hidden from the world the rest of time, maybe there is an element of 'mine, look but don't touch'. Bottom Aramis preferred. I would love it if Athos - frustrated and lonely - gets an invite from someone, and after consuming more than a few drinks one evening, he goes. Slowly it dawns on him who he is watching, after a lot of 'it can't be...' and thinking he's drunkenly hallucinating. Does he silently mouth one of their names and they see and guess his identity too, or does he draw the pair's attention by trying to leave too quickly, bumping into other guests and tables, muttering apologies. Do they guess who he is and tailor their performance to him - suddenly it's less about exhibitionism and more of an invitation."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night At Madame Angel's

Athos made his way warily into the crowded room, hardly knowing where to lay his eyes. He was in an undercroft of some kind, the vaulting of which looked vaguely ecclesiastical. He'd reached it through a series of underground passages and quickly become disoriented as to which direction he'd been heading in. Which of course had been the idea. The secret venue frequently moved location, and entry was strictly by invitation only.

He'd heard of the infamous Madame Angel: almost everyone had. Famed for her debauched and licentious gatherings, her identity was a closely guarded secret and the guest-list carefully selected. 

When the invitation had turned up in his saddlebag one evening, Athos had nearly thrown it away. Something had made him hold onto it though, despite the fact he told himself he'd never be desperate enough to use it. An intensely private man, the thought of taking part in such a public display was contrary to every instinct he had. No matter how lonely he might occasionally feel.

Except - somehow now here he was, already sweating in the overcrowded basement, as nervous as a cat in a yard full of dogs. His initial fears of being pawed at proved groundless though, as the patrons gave him a respectfully wide berth. Even masked and anonymous there was still something in his bearing that conveyed a self-assurance not to be trifled with, an aloofness that did not invite the petting and fondling between strangers that was going on around him.

And strange hardly covered it. The fact that everyone was masked was only the start. All around him people were attired in fantastical costumes, some were barely clothed at all, and swinging in a gilt cage overheard, two women painted gold with only a spray of feathers to cover their modesty were billing and cooing like birds.

There were musicians and dancers laid on as entertainment, and some people were watching, and some people were drinking, but most were cavorting with each other in varying degrees of perverted eroticism, and Athos, who had thought himself reasonably unshockable, was left wide-eyed and astonished.

The mask was a comfort. It gave him something to hide behind and allowed him to look around without feeling self-conscious. There were men with women, women with other women, men with men - even groups of three, four and more. It was eye-opening.

He procured himself a drink - three times the price it should have been, but as the strong spirits warmed his throat Athos felt a little more at ease.

He'd been careful to wear clothes he was rarely seen in - soft leather boots, a loose black shirt and anonymous dark breeches. He found he had no desire to join in, was happy enough just to watch. There was an oddly comforting feeling of acceptance in the room. Everyone could do as they pleased with no fear of censure. 

No weapons were permitted in the venue - only the twin pistols of Madame Angel herself, who presided over the room from a throne at the end, a long tailed whip over one arm and her feet resting on the naked back of a kneeling young man who seemed pleased enough to be honoured that way. Athos peered closer. Definitely _very_ pleased. He blinked, and turned away. Still not quite used to being able to stare at such things, he was glad the mask was hiding his embarrassment.

As he wandered, Athos found his eyes drawn more often than not to those men who were disporting themselves with other men. It was a leaning he'd long recognised within himself and learned to ignore, but here, where there were so many lithe young bodies displayed proudly in the candlelight he found himself drinking it all in like a man dying of thirst.

In one corner he happened across a man sitting astride another's lap, and after his first appreciative glance Athos realised the man was actually riding his partner's cock and stopped in his tracks, transfixed.

The first man was rising and falling in a languid rhythm, braced by large and gentle hands around his waist. His head was thrown back, and Athos saw he wore a silver half-mask in the form of a bird. His lover wore a wolf's head, vicious and fierce looking, and Athos got a glimpse of teeth as he grinned up at the man he was enthusiastically fucking.

Captivated, Athos let his eyes linger, roaming greedily over the first man's body. He had his back to him, but Athos took in the lean figure with pleasure, from his buttocks up to the dark hair visible beneath the ties of the mask. The man had a scar on his shoulder, a darker slash running up from his ribs, and Athos smiled slightly, thinking that Aramis had a scar just like it.

He froze, eyes fixed on the scar. It was _exactly_ like Aramis'. And the man himself - Aramis' build, colouring, hard to judge height, but - it looked about right. 

Athos shook his head. Aramis would hardly be in a place like this. Although the idea of Aramis being fucked like that - Athos felt his dick give an interested twitch, and swallowed hard.

Almost against his will he moved closer. If it was Aramis he would have another scar, lighter and not so visible, below his right shoulderblade, slightly crooked. It was a mark Athos was extremely familiar with, being a wound he'd sewn up himself. He stopped in his tracks, fingers tightening around his glass almost hard enough to shatter it. The scar was there. This _was_ Aramis.

Still a little distant from the couple, for a second Athos could hardly breathe. He felt sick. Not that Aramis should do such a thing, but that he should trust himself to strangers, that he should trust others with a secret such as this, where he had not trusted Athos, or - or Porthos. 

Belatedly, Athos' brain caught up with his eyes and he took in the fact that the hands around Aramis' waist were of a darker shade than the pale skin they were splayed against. Until now the second man had been mostly obscured by Aramis' body, and Athos edged to the side until he got a better view. Took in the muscled frame, the gold earring, the scar on his chest visible beneath the open leather waistcoat he was wearing.

It was, undoubtedly, Porthos. Athos' first emotion was one of relief. To think Aramis should be here and doing such things alone, had made him unaccountably sad. But if they were together then he was glad for them.

He wondered briefly what they were doing here. If they had each other, surely they had no need for such a place. But then again, as he had found, perhaps it was comforting, to be surrounded by people doing much the same. To know they were not alone.

Or, perhaps they just liked being watched. Athos, throat dry, drained his glass and moved closer. They were still fucking, slow and easy, and from this angle he caught a glimpse of Porthos' thick cock disappearing between Aramis' legs.

It was no good, Athos was abruptly hard as all hell, and he shifted awkwardly. If they knew he was watching them they'd surely be horrified, regardless of where they were. 

Aramis was in an almost trance-like state. The heat and the background noise, and the feeling of Porthos moving inside him, hard and deep and so good, had transported him to a dreamy ecstasy. He dropped his head back, feeling sweat trickling between his shoulderblades. He was naked but for a rosary about his throat.

Porthos was more aware, fully enjoying the slide and thrust of his cock into Aramis' tight body but also instinctively keeping one eye on their surroundings. He caught sight of the figure watching them, and nudged Aramis.

"We've got an audience," he murmured.

"We're fucking each other in the middle of a crowded room, of course we've got an audience," Aramis retorted, mildly annoyed to be pulled back to reality.

"Nah. A specific one," Porthos said quietly.

When Aramis looked round and straight at him, Athos nearly fell backwards with alarm. But he reminded himself he was masked, and in unfamiliar clothing, and would hardly be expected here, and so he held his ground. He was certainly not the only person watching them, although perhaps the only one to have stood and stared for so long, which had no doubt been what drew their attention.

"Like what you see, monsieur?" Aramis called, and began to flaunt the way he was riding Porthos. "Don't be shy." He held out a hand in invitation.

Athos hesitated, then moved towards them. This close, he could see the sweat on their skin, hear their breathing, hear the hitch as Aramis sank down onto Porthos cock, the little groans Porthos was giving. Athos was painfully, guiltily hard.

And then Aramis reached out and stroked a hand over Athos' crotch. "Well monsieur," he whispered. "It seems that we please you."

Athos couldn't find the words to reply, although part of him didn't dare speak in any case, as they would surely recognise his voice if nothing else. The strangled noise he gave seemed approval enough, and before he could decide what to do, Aramis was unlacing his breeches.

Athos knew he should back off, in no way should he let Aramis touch him like this, without knowing who he was. But somehow his feet wouldn't obey him and he stayed motionless as Aramis drew out his erect cock and palmed it admiringly. It had been so long since anyone had touched him but himself. 

There was the gleam of an approving grin as Porthos guessed what Aramis was going to do before Athos did, and suddenly Aramis had leaned over and taken Athos' cock into his mouth.

Athos groaned, he couldn’t stop himself. Aramis was good at this, he took Athos all the way in, sucking around him with every sign of enjoyment. Without thinking, Athos reached down and fisted his hand in Aramis' hair, making him moan in approval. Aramis sucked and licked and worked him expertly with his hand, and Athos came in a humiliatingly short space of time, spilling into Aramis' mouth in a sudden rush.

Aramis swallowed around him and sat back with a self-satisfied grin. He leaned in and kissed Porthos messily, making sure Athos could see their tongues, both now coated with his release.

Athos refastened his breeches, lightheaded and dazed. Porthos it seemed, had been turned on immensely by what had just happened and abruptly gave a number of rapid, sharper thrusts into Aramis' body before coming with a groan.

Aramis eased off him and turned round in his lap, and Athos realised for the first time his control was due partly to a thick leather ring fastened around the base of his cock.

"Won't you help me, monsieur?" Aramis whispered, as Porthos leaned round and unfastened the ring.

Athos dropped to his knees without knowing what he was going to do, and reached out to take Aramis into his hand. His cock was warm and firm, and Athos stroked him quickly and with pleasure.

It didn’t take Aramis long, he'd been kept on the brink a long time and came with a moan in less than a minute, his seed glistening on his belly and Athos' fingers. 

Porthos leaned around Aramis and lifted Athos' hand to his mouth, licking through the mess. Athos caught glittering eyes watching him through the holes in the mask, and found it hard to breathe.

"Maybe we should take this to one of the private rooms," Aramis murmured, and Athos came back to himself with a shock. What was he thinking, what was he doing here? If they found out it was him, which they could hardly fail to do in the privacy of a chamber - he scrambled to his feet, muttering an apology, and turned to lose himself hurriedly in the crowd.

Porthos and Aramis looked at each other. "Fuck," said Aramis.

Athos was almost at the exit when he became aware of someone following him through the crowd. A glance over his shoulder told him it was Aramis - still masked, but now clad in loose trousers and shirt.

He hurried on, but there were people in his way, and before he could make the door a hand closed on the material of his shirt sleeve. 

"I'm sorry, I have to leave, I intended no insult," Athos muttered in a low voice, hoping the surrounding hubbub was enough to disguise it.

"Athos."

He froze. Gradually, inch by inch, he turned to look at Aramis, who let go his arm now he was sure Athos wasn't going to run.

"You knew?" Athos said shakily, incredulous.

"Of course I knew," Aramis whispered, stepping closer for the sake of discretion. "How could I not? You, who are as familiar to me as my own shadow?" He smiled, under the mask. "As you knew us, I think."

Athos' relief that Aramis wasn't angry was abruptly overtaken by a feeling of deep shame. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"Who says you're intruding?" Porthos materialised from the crowd on his other side, blocking his escape. He grinned. "Who do you think left you the invitation in the first place?"

"It was you?" Athos blinked in surprise. 

"Who else?" Aramis smiled. 

"We figured it was the safest way," Porthos added. "We weren't sure if you'd be up for joining us or not."

"Although happily we seem to have resolved that question, at least," Aramis said with a smirk, and Athos flushed.

"Don't go," Porthos said quietly, seeing Athos glance towards the door. "Stay with us?"

"But - are you sure?" Athos asked, torn between wanting it so much it hurt, and the fear of coming between them.

"It didn't feel right without you, to be honest," Aramis told him with a smile. "There was always - something missing."

They each took possessive hold of one of his hands, and Athos finally smiled at them. "Well. If you insist?"

"We do," Porthos nodded, firmly.

"Then did somebody say something about a private room?"

\--


End file.
